


Mother's Day

by odiko_ptino



Series: Modern AU [23]
Category: Greek and Roman Mythology
Genre: Apollo plays guitar, Gen, M/M, Mother's Day, the gods and their moms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-20 14:06:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17024040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/odiko_ptino/pseuds/odiko_ptino
Summary: Apollo and some other momma's boys (and girls)





	Mother's Day

Icarus yawns enormously as he pads towards his bathroom.  It’s a Sunday; which means he’s walking Smork and Troll before he does a shift at What in Carnation with Elverna and Leroy, then hopefully he’ll have enough time to put in some work on the final project for –

\- He opens the door to his bathroom to see Apollo already there, seated elegantly on the edge of his bathtub, one leg crossed over the other and a guitar in position on his knee. Some kind of… devices, that look sort of like a tablet and a microphone but in an alien way, are positioned around him. Apollo looks up.

“Oh, hello, Icarus. You know, it’s usually polite to know first.”

At this point, it’s not worth arguing that it’s not Apollo’s apartment.  In any case, Icarus is still blinking at Apollo, wondering if he’s still asleep.  Apollo plays three chords and hums to himself.

“Uh…..”

“Don’t mind me, I shouldn’t be much more than another hour at this point.”

“Um – w-wait, what…?”

There’s always the little uncertainty, when he witnesses the gods doing something weird.  Should he ask?  What if he offends them and makes them angry?  But on the other hand… what the hell is Apollo doing?

Icarus decides to just take the plunge and ask.  “Okay…Why are you playing your guitar in my bathroom?”

“The acoustics in here are second to none.”

This is technically an answer… Icarus isn’t quite satisfied, but he can see that getting to the bottom of this will take more time than he wants to spend.  There are urgent matters he needs to attend to.

“Well, can it wait?  I gotta use the bathroom.”

“Go ahead.”

“Apollo!”  Icarus tries to make his voice sound less apologetic or whiny, and more authoritative and stern, with mixed results.  “I can’t while you’re here!”

Apollo sighs.  “Can’t it wait?  I’m hitting my stride with this composition!”

“No!  I gotta pee and I can’t do it with you watching!”

Apollo rolls his eyes but quirks his mouth, standing up.  “Your shyness is very inconvenient at times, Icarus.  Very well… you have five minutes.”

He musses Icarus’ hair as he goes.  “Make sure to make time to attend to your pileous grooming as well.”

———–

_Pileus: the cap of a mushroom; also a brimless felt cap worn in Ancient Greece._

Icarus frowns at his phone from where he’s eating his cereal in the kitchen.  Apollo’s gone back into the bathroom with the door shut, and Icarus is too proud to ask him what the hell that word had meant.

Clearly, it must be this hat, right?  But he has no idea what that’s supposed to mean…

“Ah, you spelled it wrong.”

Icarus jumps, startled, at the sound of Helios’ voice about two inches from his ear.  “Sh-shit!  Helios! Don’t sneak up – ”

Helios snatches Icarus’ phone away from him and types in something, then hands it back to Icarus.

_Pileous: of or relating to hair._

“Oh.”  Icarus glares flatly at the phone.  Apollo had been making fun of his bed hair.   _Uncool_.

“He’s used that word on me more than once,” Helios remarks, going over to Icarus’ cabinet to fish out a large mixing bowl.

“It should be off-limits to make fun of someone less than five minutes after they wake up,” Icarus grumbles.

“Doesn’t occur to him. That asshole wakes up looking flawless. It’s ridiculous.”  Helios upends the rest of Icarus’ cereal into the mixing bowl.  “Thank you Demeter for providing this crunchy corn food!” he says dramatically before poking around in the dry cereal with a spoon.

“There’s no prize in Corn Flakes,” Icarus says around a mouthful of his own cereal.

Helios drops the spoon on the table in exasperation.  “Boring food without even a prize?!  You need some better breakfasts, Mop-Head,” he exclaims as he abandons the cereal.  

Faintly, there comes a sound of a guitar being strummed.  Helios glances over.  “Oh – he’s still working on the song?”

“Ah, yeah.  He kicked me out so he could work on it.”

“Well, it’s an important day, after all.”

“Hmm?”  Icarus looks up, curious.

Helios raises his eyebrows. “It’s Mother’s Day, Mop-Head!”

Oh, right.  Icarus had known that, of course… he’s planning to call his own mother on his way home from the flower shop.

“I… didn’t know you guys did that…”

Helios shrugs. “Apollo does, for sure.  There is probably no bigger Momma’s Boy in existence than Apollo.”

“Leto, right?  That’s her name?”

“Yeah.  She’s the goddess of motherhood.  Well, one of them.  It’s kind of a group effort.”

“He’s really close with her, then?”

“Oh, for sure.  Those three are thick as thieves together. That is, I’m including Artemis, too. Constantly visiting each other, checking in on each other, telling stories about each other…obviously, Mother’s Day wasn’t really a thing back then, but there were still formal cults for her and stuff.  Every year Apollo composes a song for her, and gets her a huge glittery card.  Arty too, I guess.  Probably she kills a bear for Leto or something.”

“Ah.”  Icarus frowns.  He’s not very close with his own parents.  Not that he doesn’t get along with them… there was just always a distance. They weren’t warm with each other, the way other families seem to be.  That distance only grew once he started college.  Probably his fault.  He isn’t much for talking on the phone; and between his jobs and the classwork, he stays busy.  He sent her a card for Mother’s Day, of course, and he’s going to call her later… but, in the face of a god who has been composing a song for his own mother every year for centuries or longer, it feels kind of cheap.

If Helios notices the dampened mood from Icarus’ end of the table, he doesn’t say anything. He keeps talking about the Moms of Olympus:

“Some of the others started doing stuff for Mother’s Day, just because why not that day?  But I think everyone kind of collectively decided not to make a big group thing out of it.  You may not have heard this, but Olympus is, like,  _charged to the max_  with Mommy and Daddy issues.”

“I think I heard something about that,” Icarus says wryly.  It does make him feel a little bit better, to know that it’s not held to a universal standard to be all Hallmark-y about your mother.  “What about – uh – I mean – ” he cuts himself off awkwardly.

Helios snickers and reaches over to goose Icarus’ ribs.  “You’re such a little dork, Mop-Head.  It’s okay; my mom scattered into the ether ages ago.”

“Oh…”  Is that… like dying, for a god?  Icarus doesn’t dare ask.  “Do you… miss her?”

“She’s still there. It’s not – hmm.”  Helios leans back in his chair, dangerously far. “These young gods are – different from the rest of us.  Theia… gave birth to me, but then… it’s not like she was a person, exactly.  Even I wasn’t, at first.  Apollo and all the other babies were people from the start; it was different for them.”

This is – new information, and Icarus finds himself a little unsettled by it.  Helios wasn’t a ‘person,’ at first?  All at once, he’s extremely aware of how different the gods must be from himself…

Helios continues, though he looks like he’s getting bored with the conversation.  “I liked Theia just fine, I guess… there just wasn’t really a person to know, there.  Everyone’s got a different way they feel about their mom, yknow?  It’s not that big a deal to everyone.  Shit, just look at the difference between Apollo and Hephaestus.  Or Athena, for that matter.  Yikes. Anyway, one Momma’s Boy is enough, I think.”  He looks over at Icarus.  “When’s your dumb work stuff done for the day?”

——————

It’s three in the afternoon, now: he ended up staying later than he expected at the flower shop. They were swamped with last-minute flower orders, for Mother’s Day.  

Leroy’s currently trying to clean up the disaster zone in the greenhouse.  Elverna’s locking up the side entrance.  Icarus just finished counting the till.  He’s holding ten dollars in his hand – his own money.  

He discreetly puts the money in the pile.  Ten dollars can only buy a single rose and a sprig of purple limonium, their stems bound together with white ribbon, and a tiny lace bag with a few chocolate kisses inside and a simple, tiny card threaded on the ribbon.

He’s not close to his mother, really – maybe he never will be.  People feel different ways about their mothers; and he’s not on bad terms with her.  

But something about Helios talking about all the worse mother situations a person can have, makes him want to do something to acknowledge that he had a pretty good mom.

Now… how to get this to her…

He feels too shy to ask Helios; too inadequate to ask Apollo.  But there’s no post on Sunday, and Icarus’ mother lives far from the city…

“Ummmmmmm………………………” He hesitates, uncertain how he’s supposed to address this entity.  “…………….Hermes…..?”

“Ummmmmmmm yes?”  The voice is about two inches behind his ear and Icarus shrieks, startled, dropping his flowers.

Hermes catches them easily, bringing them up to his face to inspect them.  He’s floating casually in the air behind Icarus, in no way acknowledging the heart attack he just gave the mortal.

“Who are these for?” he asks, in the tones of someone who already knows the answer to the question.

“Sh-shit… uh – h-hey, Hermes, I, uh… those.. are for… my mom?  If – is it okay – can I ask if you would – ” Icarus is stammering, face reddening.

Hermes gives him a stern look, folding his arms forbiddingly.  The frown on his face, when Icarus has only ever seen him smiling, is intimidating as fuck. “I am the messenger of the  _gods_ , Icarus.  You called me from my duties to ask you to deliver  _flowers_  to your mother?”

Icarus pales and starts hyperventilating.  “Oh – f-fuck, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be – presumptuous, obviously you’re busy, please don’t even – oh!”

“Ouranos’ balls, you’re too fuckin’ cute.  So easy!” Hermes messes up Icarus’ hair furiously and jams the ballcap – part of the shop uniform – over his eyes.  “It’s fine!  Of course I will.  Calm down already.”

“J-jeez,” Icarus manages, weak with relief.  “O-okay. I’m – uh, calm.  Thank you very much for – I know you have stuff to do – ”

“Kid,  _shut up_!  It’s fine, I’m happy to help.”  Hermes is smiling beatifically now, plainly amused at Icarus’ panic.

“Okay.  But thank you.  Um. I have the address – ”

“No need.  I can find it.”

And with that, Hermes is gone, with only a faint breeze to indicate he’d ever been there.

—————————–

Epilogue:

Hermes delivers the flowers and vanishes before he can be seen.  

Having completed this task, he resumes his journey to a certain cave near Mount Cyllene – Maia greets him on approach, grinning broadly.  He sweeps his mother up into an enormous hug and wastes no time in gently wrapping an arm about her waist and carrying her off, to visit whatever place she wants to see and do whatever she wants to do there.

Hermes is fortunate to have more free time than usual today.  Most of the gods and goddesses of Olympus have chosen to deliver their messages in person.

Kore and Demeter have no need for correspondence between each other for a while.  Mother’s Day fairly nearly coincides with the height of springtime and is a lovely way to cap the first flurry of joy they feel at spending time together again.  

Eros has given his mother his usual gift – a day at a spa.  He attends as well, which may not be usual for sons, but they’re an unusual pair.  They enjoy the heat rocks and mud masks and hot spring soak, and drink champagne and eat chocolate for hours.

Dionysus blanches as Pierce Brosnan begins caterwauling on screen.  He loves his mother; he really does.  His offer to watch any movies or plays she wants is sincere.  But gods, this is an insult to the art of theater!  _At least you’re pretty_ , he thinks to Pierce as Semele clasps her hands and watches, eyes shining.

Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades are standing in a small room, some distance from the main hall.  Hestia has already been here, and lit the candles.  A statue of a round, fertile goddess wearing a turreted crown is in the center of the room, surrounded by the candles.  A bowl is at the statue’s feet, filled with a fragrant-smelling liquid.  The three gods each put a flower around the bowl.  

“Thank you,” they say in turn, and stand quietly a while before leaving.

Hera is in her rooms, reading a book.  She’ll go to the room herself, later, with Demeter and Hestia.  On her bedside table are a three cards: a handmade one from Ares, with a box of chocolate; a bright and cheerful one with photos of happy children glued to it, from Hebe; a simple one from Hephaestus and an elegant bracelet that came with it.  The bookmark is a card of sorts, too – it came along with the book Hera’s reading, from Athena.

Artemis’ nymphs wait in the woods beyond the palace of Olympus.  Artemis will be back eventually – Mother’s Day is always a big event for her. The nymphs have prepared a surprise dinner for her this year.  Artemis isn’t a mother to anyone; and yet, for many of the nymphs, she is nearly the only mother figure they’ve known.

Leto is seated in her home, surrounded by plushies and flowers and sweets and, yes, a bearskin, courtesy of Artemis.  Apollo is singing his song for her, while Artemis and the Muses dance.  Leto’s heart swells with love for her children, who have loved her from the beginning, and given her life a purpose she couldn’t have imagined when she was merely Leto the Titaness.

There is a small note tucked into Apollo’s guitar case – handwritten, on a scrap of cereal box. It’s in Icarus’ small scrawled handwriting:

_I’d like to meet your mom someday.  She sounds very nice._


End file.
